


the typewriter

by spinnerofyarns



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Ghosts, M/M, Typewriter, idk what this is but it's fucking weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinnerofyarns/pseuds/spinnerofyarns
Summary: Peter communicates with Gavin through an old typewriter.





	the typewriter

**Author's Note:**

> I watched a documentary about typewriters a few weeks ago and then I got home and this happened.

            They buy a typewriter on their first real date, at a flea market in San Francisco. It’s an old Underwood portable in near-perfect condition, and Peter is practically salivating as he runs his delicate fingers over the keys.

            Gavin negotiates with the seller and persuades him – by intimidation – to knock $50 off the price and throw in a new ribbon and some paper. He helps Peter carry the typewriter back to their car, and watches, fascinated, as Peter tinkers with it back at their apartment.

            “For someone so obsessed with the future, you sure seem fond of outdated technology,” Gavin teases affectionately.

            “This typewriter is really the perfect machine,” Peter says, quite seriously. “It was built to last. Hard drives fail all the time, but typewritten work is forever.”

            “Unless you light it on fire,” Gavin points out.

            “A hard drive wouldn’t survive that either,” Peter counters.

\----

            Peter uses the typewriter for everything from journal entries to letters to grocery lists. Gavin grows used to the constant clanging of the keys and the periodic ding of the carriage return.

            The apartment is weirdly silent when Peter moves out. Gavin never realized how much he would miss the noise.

            Peter insists on typing all of his communications to Gavin, attaching terse typewritten notes to files full of Hooli paperwork.

            When it’s all over, Gavin sometimes misses the notes.

            In spite of himself, he invests in an IBM Selectric, unwilling to go completely manual, and starts typing all his internal memos.

            It isn’t the same, and after a few months the Selectric becomes a rather large fancy paperweight.

\----

            Peter leaves Gavin the Underwood in his will and it feels like a posthumous middle finger. When the clunky relic arrives at Hooli, Gavin loads it with a sheet of paper, aligns it to center the text, and types _FUCK YOU_. He leaves the paper in the typewriter and places it in a locked glass-fronted cabinet on his wall. When people ask about it, he simply says that it’s a metaphor and leaves them to wonder.

\----

            Gavin thinks he must be hallucinating from lack of sleep. Though he’s not sure why his hallucinations would take the form of typewriter noises.

            He glances over to the cabinet just in time to see that someone has added a line of text to the page in Peter’s typewriter.

            Gavin crosses the room to take a closer look. Below his _FUCK YOU_ there is a line, left-aligned, that says _well, that was absolutely uncalled for._ As he watches, the keys move, and another line appears: _i mean i left you my most prized possession and you did this? very mature, gavin._

            Gavin unlocks the cabinet and takes the typewriter out. This has to be a cruel prank.

            _HENDRICKS, THIS IS A SHITTY FUCKING JOKE_ , he types. _KNOCK IT OFF._

 _richard hendricks is brilliant, yes, but i don’t think even he could hack a manual typewriter_ , the…whatever the hell it is on the other end responds. _at any rate, i am absolutely certain that this is not his work._

Gavin pauses, then slowly, tentatively types out _PETER?_

            _in the flesh. or at least the spirit._

_I DON’T BELIEVE YOU._

_ask me anything. something only peter would know._

Gavin hesitates, thinking, then types _HOW MANY LANDO PUGRISSIANS HAVE YOU HAD?_

_i was on number 4 when i died. by the way i'm glad to see monica has given him a good home._

Gavin sinks heavily into his office chair. It really is Peter – as far as the rest of the world knows, Lando Pugrissian is one pug who has survived a shocking 30 years on a diet of mostly junk.

            _IT’S REALLY YOU_ , he types. _HOW? WHERE ARE YOU?_

            _i'm not quite sure. this place is…primarily fog. a lot of nothing. but it seems that if i focus i can communicate with you like this._

 _THIS IS CRAZY_ , Gavin types. _AM I DREAMING?_

            _well i'm not quite sure,_ comes the response. _i mean, it seems quite real, but…how can we ever be sure?_

            Gavin pinches himself. Hard. It hurts. “Fuck,” he mutters. _WELL…NOT DREAMING_ , he types. _POSSIBLY GOING INSANE, BUT NOT DREAMING. IT’S REALLY YOU._

_very much so. it seems i have some sort of unfinished business. not quite sure what it is, but i guess it involves you._

“Of fucking course it does,” Gavin mutters.

            _WELL GOOD LUCK FIGURING IT OUT,_ he types. _I’M GOING TO BED AND HOPING I WON’T BE CRAZY WHEN I WAKE UP._

\----

            But in the morning the entire conversation is still there. Gavin rips the paper out of the typewriter and burns it.

            Then in a fit of regret he loads a fresh sheet into the machine.

\----

            It becomes a habit. For weeks, Gavin and Peter’s – ghost? soul? what? – communicate through the typewriter.

            Mostly they reminisce about their past, their life together. But until one late, drunken night, Gavin keeps shying away from saying what he really wants to say.

            But then…it’s late and he’s been working his way through an expensive bottle of scotch…and he can’t stop himself.

            _PETER_ , he types, _I NEED TO SAY SOMETHING._

_go ahead._

_I’M SORRY FOR HOW I TREATED YOU WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. I’M SORRY I LET SOMETHING SO DUMB DRIVE US APART._ He pauses, takes another sip of scotch to steel his nerves. _I WAS A JERK AND I NEVER GOT TO TELL YOU HOW BAD I FELT SO I’M SAYING IT NOW._

            _gavin_ Peter starts to type but Gavin starts a new line before he can finish.

            _I LOVED YOU PETER. AND I STILL LOVE YOU. AND I’M SO SORRY._

_oh gavin i wish you hadn’t said that._

_WHAT? WHY?_

_well…it appears that getting an apology was our unfinished business. i'm moving on. disappearing._

_WHAT?_

_this is the last time i'll ever speak to you, gavin. i'm sorry. i love you._

_PETER! NO!_

_goodbye gavin._

_PETER!_

No response.

            _PETER?_

            But Gavin knows there won’t be a response. There will never be a response.

            Gavin rips the paper out of the typewriter and sinks to the ground, sobbing.


End file.
